


Rigor Mortis

by BoStarsky



Series: Assorted Kylux [11]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Ben is a little shit, Ben is a mess, But He Gets Better, Hurt/Comfort, Hux is Ben's pet ghost, Hux is a shitty force ghost, Hux is tired of picking up Ben's shit, Leia does not approve, Leia tries so hard, M/M, MCD, Nor does anyone else, Resistance Member Ben Solo, he needs a break, hints of family drama, the force is playing cupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 07:19:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15165488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoStarsky/pseuds/BoStarsky
Summary: “Your ghost is General Hux?” Organa raises an inquisitive brow at her gaping son. Of course she’d recognise his voice, of course she would. Perfect.An uncomfortable silence descends upon the room, Hux more grateful than ever that they can’t see him. The kitten stirs next to him, rolling onto her back and presenting her soft belly, heavy paws twitching as she dreams.“You gave him a pet?” Ben flounders under his mother’s judging gaze. “He’s a war criminal, Ben. A murderer of billions. And you let him have a pet?” Her disapproval is damn near palpable.“To be fair, I didn’t know who he was.” Ben defends himself meekly.





	Rigor Mortis

**Author's Note:**

> This is an elaboration on General Ghost, my stupid little drabble grew into this mess. Enjoy!
> 
> Come find me on tumblr (BoStarsky) where I rebog from the shadows like a creep.
> 
> P.S: I apologise for the title, I’m so sorry. I just couldn’t help myself.

Dying isn’t quite like Hux imagined it would be, it’s only appropriate, he supposes, that his death should take place alongside his masterpiece. Starkiller is crumbling around him where he’s trapped underneath debris. He should have seen it coming, should have been better prepared, if he had, the Resistance wouldn’t be destroying his life’s work, turning it to dust. He’s not dead yet, but the probability of survival is low enough that he knows when to give in and watch his troops defend their cause. They’ll win, he knows they will, if not this time then the next. The Resistance is weak, sentiment and emotions steering the ship, The Order will erase them with or without him.

It feels like he’s been laying here forever, though he knows it’s only been minutes since the crumbling wall crushed his legs. The pain has gone to his head, paralyzing him under a white hot blanket. The last thing he sees before he lets the exhaustion claim him is a dark haired man wielding a deep magenta lightsaber, a vibrant energy surrounding him and his companions. Hux would like nothing more than to destroy the people responsible for his crumbling empire, he’ll hunt them down after he wakes up, he’s just too tired right now. Too tired to fight, the polished floor is hard and unyielding, he can see, but no longer feel the collapsed wall pinning him to the ground. The world is hazy around him, the sounds of battle distant and warped.

He closes his eyes to the dizzying chaos and thinks of that bottle of fine brandy he was saving for the day Snoke finally made him Grand Marshall, sitting untouched in his quarters for years. It’s probably been lost to the battle by now, amber liquid spilling over broken crystal. He fantasises he can taste the expensive alcohol on his tongue, rich flavour warming his throat as he falls into a peaceful sleep.

—

Calling it waking up doesn’t feel right, everything is off kilter and far away, he can’t quite make sense of his surroundings or what state he’s in, only that he’s cold. Did they win? He must be in the medbay, maybe this is what it’s like to be in a bacta tank. Awake, but not really. How long has he been like this? There are voices that sound as if they are submerged in water, thick and distorted. They sound unfamiliar, but he can’t be expected to know every member of his crew. He slips back into nothingness to the comforting hum of a hyperdrive that sounds just shaky enough to be odd. The Finalizer shouldn’t have so much as a slight wheeze in her engines. 

—

His surroundings are clearer than they were before, he’s no longer in the tank, but feels no less sluggish and detached from reality. Wherever he is, it’s calm and peaceful, the same limping hyperdrive buzzing in the background. This isn’t The Finalizer, he’s quick to realise. Something is wrong. Panic rises in his throat, he swallows it back down the best he can. This ship, if it can be called that much at all, is dirty, dented and old. The kind of vessel The Order wouldn’t even use as a decoy. 

He’s been kidnapped.

There’s no other explanation, The Resistance having taken advantage of his injuries and dragged him off on this trash heap of a freighter. It won’t be long before someone comes for him, nobody kidnaps General Hux without consequences. 

He finds it strange that he’s not in chains, no restraints of any kind. They appear to have locked him in the bunk together with a sleeping man. Pathetic. They couldn’t even spare him a conscious guard. When he tries to get a closer look at the man he can’t move, it’s like his entire body is paralysed. Poison, surely. A gas, maybe? A bunk would have been nice, he’d rather not stand for however long this trip will last. 

The man mumbles something and rolls over. Hux sneers at the face revealed to him. It’s him, the man with the lightsaber, the jedi. He got kidnapped by a bleeding jedi. Surely this must all be some sort of fever dream caused by his injuries, it's the only explanation for how attractive the jedi is, probably a poster boy for the religious fanatics. Who wouldn't want to join a faction where they could stare at those pouty, cocksucking lips? They’d definitely be a distraction for a collection of horny teenagers regretting signing up for a life of celibacy. Serves them right.

No matter how long he waits whatever is paralysing him won’t let up, he has no way of knowing how long he’s been like this already or how long until they land. It’s bordering on torture. At least he can’t feel anything. It’s the boredom that’s killing him, being forced to sit still with no mental stimulation other than watching a snoring Jedi. If their goal is to drive him insane they might actually succeed. 

After what feels like days the door hisses open, making way for a Wookiee, of all things. The walking wall of fur growls, waking the jedi and ignoring Hux completely, before retreating back to wherever it came from. Stirred from his slumber the jedi doesn’t so much as grunt in acknowledgement, staring through Hux with sleep crusted eyes as he collects his personality. It’s like watching a computer download a particularly difficult program. 

He just sits there on the edge of his bunk, gaping at nothing with one sock on and the other in his hand. Vacant expression proving the lack of discipline in The Resistance, one should be able to roll out of bed alert and ready. In war nobody has time to wait twenty minutes for someone to put their socks on. 

Eventually both socks are in place, mismatched and threadbare as they are, and covered by a pair of heeled boots with a, frankly, unnecessary amount of straps and buckles. What’s wrong with just smooth, polished leather? His robes are equally ridiculous, long and heavy. The whole debacle is something akin to watching Nabooian royalty getting dressed. What happened to the practical trousers and tunic he’d been wearing at Starkiller? 

The folds of embroidered fabric and loose sleeves dripping with pearls should be drowning the man in an unsightly pile of frippery, but as soon as he stands the robe cascades around him like a waterfall. Not only is the man a jedi, he’s a ponce. A nancy politician playing at war. Nobody dresses like that for the sake of it. This man, whoever he is, has some sort of appearance to uphold, whether for morale or something else. Great. 

When the man leaves he appears to have no choice, but to follow, an invisible rope pulling him along. Not poison then, the jedi must be restraining him. How unfortunate. 

“Would you at least care to tell me where we’re going?” No answer, not even a twitch. Two can play at that game. 

The ship is even more of a wreck than he previously thought. Dented panels and exposed wiring lining the hall he’s dragged through. The common room is no better, worn out and in need of a scrub, or ten. 

“Good morning, Ben.” A slight woman is beaming at him from her seat by the dejarik table. 

Ben, says nothing, frowning at her chipper attitude, dropping into the booth with a heavy sigh. Hux can't believe he’s being forced to watch this, this grown ass man making puppy dog eyes at frail looking thing in simple silk robes, another jedi. The woman rolls her eyes, digging through a bag at her side, “You should learn to do this yourself.” She chides. 

“I don’t dress up often enough.” So it does have a voice! A deep, soft voice to accompany those lips. Of course he does. Where are they going anyway? Straight to trial? Are they not going to interrogate him first, or even make him sit and stew in a cell for a few weeks?

Is this his punishment? Watching a young girl putting makeup on this useless, frilly, jedi. If it is, The Resistance is a lot crueler than he gave them credit for. 

He can hear the Wookiee long before he sees it, growling dejectedly from what Hux assumes is the cockpit. 

“I know, Chewie, I know,” A grumbling voice answers accompanied by the clanging of boots on metal grating. “But Leia told us to dress up and you know how she gets.” An elderly man wheels around the corner looking like he’d prefer being anywhere else. 

He has a face anyone would be hard pressed to forget. Han Solo. Of course it would be Solo who’s abducted him, who else would have the guts? Still as ruggedly handsome as he was thirty years ago, age may have caught up, but he’s clearly the same man Hux has seen in countless propaganda holos. 

Solo barely spares a glance at the two in the booth instead setting a course straight for Hux showing no signs of stopping. Well, if he expects Hux to move he’ll be standing there a long time waiting. 

A cold shiver runs down his spine when Solo just keeps going, walking straight through him like if Hux was a hologram. He’s not, he knows he isn’t. The force is a mystical thing he doesn’t claim to understand, but he’s pretty sure it can’t make people insubstantial enough to walk through. Neither does he seem to react to Hux’s confused outrage. What the bloody hell is going on? This can’t possibly be real, it must be a dream, an insane scenario thought up by his comatose self. It’ll be over soon, he reassures himself, nothing lasts forever. He’ll just wait it out

They finally land in a crowded ship yard on what appears to be a core planet and going by the cacophony of sound that rushes in when the ramp lowers a celebration is happening. A celebration of the destruction of his life’s work, no doubt, the deaths of thousands. Where’s their sympathy now? Starkiller was home to more than just military forces, it housed their families as well, children and pets. People who thought they were in the safest place in the galaxy. And here they are, dancing in the streets, draped in bright colors and waving flags, uncaring of the lives that have been lost. This is a most cruel and unusual punishment.

The jedi, Ben, trails behind this rag tag group, lifting the tails of his embellished robe and tucking the delicate brocade into his belt with little care. The only one of these misfits that blend in at all is the young woman in her simpler, but just as bright and lively robes, a broad smile on her face as she mingles with the crowd despite her frowning companions.

Getting used to the sensation of people walking through him isn't easy, the act is just as unsettling each time. Every person or object that passes through the air where his body should be further driving home the point that something is awfully wrong. Their journey ends on the outskirts of a square packed with frilly parade floats, technicians milling about with various tools, performers, and dressed up military personnel. A parade, fantastic. At this point, he's convinced his own brain is rebelling against him if this is what he gets when fighting for his life in a hospital bed.

General Organa herself sweeps up to them in an elegant gown, looking every bit like the royalty she is, greeting each member of his captors with a warm hug. “It’s about time you three got here,” she chides. “Luke is over there, dear.” she smiles at the young woman, softening around the edges for just a moment. Her face hardens in an instant when she puts her focus back on the three men, zeroing in on Ben who fidgets under the heavy stare.

He won’t lie, watching such a large man shrinking before the diminutive General is entertaining, it also sparkes a measure of respect for Organa. “Ben, you should know better.” exasperation is clear in her voice, small hands carefully pulling the bunched up robes free, righting the draping and fixing the disgustingly lavish jewelry dripping from Ben’s pale neck. 

“Yes, ma’am.” Ben mumbles, bending to accommodate her height while she straightens his ridiculous, feathered headdress.

“Don’t call me that, I'm your mother.” she grumbles, eventually deciding he's presentable and moving on to give Han Solo the same treatment.

Hux takes in the bedazzled jedi, Leia Organa’s son, of course he is. Who else would he be stuck following around than the prince of a near extinct royal family of a planet than no longer exists. Not only is he royalty, he's also taken more after his father, shifting uncomfortably in his robes and making more than one move to rub at the paint on his face before catching himself and aborting mission. He hates Ben for actually managing to carry off the stupid outfit and himself for thinking it. If they wanted to torture him, they’ve found the way to do it, he shivers as an x-wing pilot darts through him. 

He’s resigned himself to this torture in the midst of the parade, choosing the lesser evil of watching his guardian force a smile over the cheering crowd. The sheer amount of people crammed behind the barriers astound him, all these brainless sheep cheering for something they don’t understand. It only makes him mourn the loss of Starkiller more. 

They’ve made it about half way down the main drag when the world starts to blur around him, sounds fading into obscurity before finally darkness consumes him. 

—

Every time he comes to things seem to improve, he can move freely now and when he brings a hand up to inspect it he looks about as solid as can be. The last thing he remembers before this extended nightmare doesn’t add up with what he finds now, further edging on that little wiggle in the back of his head that tells him something is wrong. Very wrong. He tries not to listen, instead holding onto the hope that he’s just in a coma. Another theory would be that the jedi is doing this to him, that he’s locked up in a cell somewhere, forced to watch this strange alternate reality that is the other side of the war. 

He explores the modest living quarters he’s woken up in, the furniture sparse and simple, but strewn with discarded clothing, every available surface cluttered with something. It’s way too detailed to be a construction. It’s unsettling, the amount of detail in the little figurines from all corners of the galaxy and the model ships, carefully pieced together. When he tries to leave a wave of fatigue washes over him, drawing him further down the more distance he puts between himself and the sleeping jedi. In the end he’s forced to turn back, ignoring the weakness in his knees as he stands by Ben’s bedside, watching him sleep. 

Boredom is quick to find him, Ben sleeps peacefully, spread out face down, snoring softly into his pillow. When he reaches out to fiddle with the model of an outdated TIE fighter on the nightstand his fingers pass through the plasteel like nothing is there. This time he knows he’s not a hologram because he doesn’t flicker like a projection would. It unnerves him to watch his hand, his hand that looks so solid, glide through the toy like thin air. Ben shifts besides him, flopping about until his arms sticks out over the floor and into the side of Hux’s thigh. 

He hurriedly steps away, pressing a hand to the spot where Ben’s arm had entered, trying to process every bit of information available to him. At least there’s a hint of comfort in knowing that he can touch himself. The last piece of the puzzle he finds by looking at the chronometer on the wall, the date specifically. Nine months. According to the glowing display it’s been nine months since Starkiller, since the wall crushed him, since he… since he… 

No, that’s not possible. There’s no such thing. He can’t be. No, no, no. He’s simply laid up in med bay. This isn’t real, it can’t be, because ghosts don’t exist. They. Do. Not. 

Ben shifts again, face twisting in the throes of a nightmare. The strange energy he felt surrounding Ben at Starkiller consumes to room, crackling like electricity. The force. When it reaches its boiling point it feels like someone flicked the switch, turning his existence off like a light. 

—

“Who’s your friend?” He’d been following Ben around, doomed to wander like the indecisive jedi always seems to be. For someone a member of an order that prides themselves on patience Ben is hardly able to sit still for any amount of time outside of his quarters. Nor does he talk to people, barely even his own mother, practically fleeing the area if there’s more than two people present. They’ve abruptly changed course more than once whenever they encounter a handsome pilot and his friend. The only thing Hux has managed to learn about the Rebels is that they’re in possession of an asocial jedi who builds model ships in his spare time. It’s not information that will do anyone any good. 

Then again, perhaps Ben is dutifully leading Hux away from anything he could draw intel from, should he ever escape this hell. 

The man who’s spoken is dressed in the robes of a jedi, earthy browns a contrast to Ben’s black. At first it struck him as odd that Ben would dress in black, he thought that was only for the sith, but after spending who knows how long trailing the man he’s started to think of him less and less as a jedi and more like something in between. A creature of the dark forcing himself to live in the light.

He would have made a magnificent asset to The First Order. If Ben had chosen a darker path in life Starkiller might not have been lost. The Order could have thrived if they’d had an agent of the force, a figure to strike fear into the opposition. Ben would have been beautiful, that brooding face lending itself well to intimidation. 

That brooding face which is currently scrunched in confusion, “Who?” Ben glances behind himself, but where Ben looks through him the other jedi seems to be staring at him, eyes twinkling with curiosity. 

“You have a ghost,” the jedi reaches out to Hux, callused fingers feeling the air before his chest. “He’s been here a while.” Hux hates the implications of those words, some part of him still refusing to look at the whole picture, dead set in his belief that he’s still alive. 

“Maybe he’s from Starkiller.” Ben muses, doing nothing to stop the other jedi’s exploration of Hux’s presence. 

The force tingles in the air, an uneasy feeling pulling at Hux’s very core. He does everything in his power to shy away from it, it’s nothing like the raw power Ben exudes when he uses the force, that sharp crackle in the air when he trains, the heavy blanket of meditation or sharp thrum of concentration when he assembles one of his toys. He doesn’t like this. It’s too soft and gentle, where Ben is a raging ocean, this man is an ambling creek. 

“I don’t think he likes me very much,” the force grips him a little harder, trying to quell his resistance. 

“I don’t.” Hux snaps back not expecting to get any reaction, but two sets of eyes sharpen in interest, zeroing in on him. “You can hear me?” Ben nods and excitement briefly floods him. He hadn’t realised how lonely he was until someone acknowledged him. 

“Let’s go somewhere quiet, see if we can’t get him to appear.” 

On the way to “somewhere quiet” he learns that the other man is Luke Skywalker, Ben’s uncle and thorn in the Empire’s side as they speculate on how Hux ended up here. Why he stuck himself to Ben instead of rejoining the force like all living things when they die.

He hates having to listen to that line of thought, he’s not dead. Ghosts do not exist, therefore he cannot possibly be dead. He knows he’s lying to himself, that somehow ghosts do exist and he’s one of them, but he doesn’t have to admit to that. Not now, not ever. No, this whole thing, whatever it is, will pass and he’ll wake up and go on with his life. He refuses to believe the afterlife consists of learning to interact with stuff and spending the rest of eternity using that skill to pick up after a chaotic jedi who thinks it’s ok to hoard laundry until he’s forced to go commando. 

In fact, the sheer amount of times he’s seen Ben sniff an article of clothing, dug out from somewhere clothes have no business being, shrugging and putting it on, is astonishing. Thank the gods he can’t smell anything yet. 

Their trek ends at the edge of the base, past the personnel quarters and behind the tree line. D’qar has a wild sort of beauty about it, left free to grow, roots and vines creeping into the edges of the compound like spindly fingers trying to reclaim the ground. Hux’s keeps himself at the very edge of his limits, as far away from Skywalker as he can get, balancing finely on the edge of discomfort. He hasn’t tried to escape since that first time, too afraid of what might happen should the distance become too great and leave him too weak to turn back. 

Tuning out the conversation taking place behind him is easy enough once he shifts his focus to the people he can see from here. A hodgepodge of species in mismatched uniforms flitting back and forth across the compound, laughing with friends. It put him off at first, the easy camaraderie between the ranks, how no one seems to address others by rank. How can they have such a lax structure in an army? How did a mess like this take down Starkiller? He has, however, learned to see some value in it. He can appreciate the emotional bonds that strengthen the ranks, how each and every soul is not only willing to fight for their cause, but for their fellow soldiers. It’s something that Hux could never see himself do, his subordinates nothing, but just that. Below him. He’d fight for them as a whole, but if it came down to the individual people he wouldn’t care, it would be a sacrifice he’d be willing to give. 

Here they seem to know each other personally. Asking about families and hobbies like old friends. Hux can’t honestly say he knew any of his fellow officers further than their names and rank, Captain Phasma being the closest thing he’s ever had to a friend. Even her, he didn’t know past her name and origin. He never knew any of them personally and he finds himself regretting that now. 

Turning away from the base he skirts around the two jedi, deeper into the wilderness. Delicate flowers stroke his ankles, a rainbow of petals hiding the ground from view. He’s never seen flowers like these. If he was slightly more corporeal he might have given thought to the damage his greatcoat must be doing, dragging along the soft blooms. 

Kneeling he reaches out to touch the dewy petals of a pink flower, not for the first time, wishing he could feel like he used to. This thing has warped him, he can touch, but his fingers are numb, like he’s been submerged in icy water for too long, sensation escaping him. Still, maybe this too will change with time. 

A rustle snaps his attention back to the two jedi now meditating serenely amongst the trees, Ben’s familiar energy washing over him, easily dominating Skywalker’s. He hears the rustle once more, curious paws padding through the underbrush. He didn’t think the wildlife came this close to the base. What emerges is a feline so small it can only be a kitten, which would explain its bravery. It’s mottled orange coat shimmers in the few rays of sunlight that penetrate the thick canopy, whiskers twitching alongside the pink nose. 

It comes as a surprise when instead of going past him like Hux expected the feline creeps ever closer, stopping a scant few inches from his still outstretched hand. Big green eyes regard him with interest. How curious, up until now he didn’t think any creature could see him, perhaps he was wrong. It hesitates before leaning forwards sniffing cautiously at him. He’s spellbound, if he still had a heartbeat he’s sure it would be pounding with excitement. 

Daring to move he slowly turns his hand to the side, they both hesitate, regarding each other with curiosity. Hux waits for the kitten to move first, trying to appear unthreatening when a lifetime of training has lined his spine with steel and carved his face from stone. He can tell the fur is soft as it yields under his hand, orange strands parting for his fingers. For the first time in what feels like forever, he smiles. 

The kitten appears to like him, that first initial touch boldening them both, it’s not long before he’s settled himself in this nest of wild flowers and the cat in his lap. Her, he decides, something this small and gentle must be a her. What is she doing here he wonders, this magnificent creature that not only can see him, but interact with him like a solid being. Does her mother lurk nearby, hunting for prey or has she gotten lost? Wandered off on her own, perhaps chasing a bug, only to find herself lost and alone. He feels like he’s found a kindred spirit. 

Maybe she’s like him, stuck in a lonesome existence in between life and death. 

For the first time since he woke up on that dented freighter he feels at peace. Hushed words are exchanged behind him and for once he can’t find it in him to care, too preoccupied with the little angel in his lap, purring from his touch. How lonely he’s been. 

Honestly, he can’t understand why they feel the need to whisper, not when he’s been with Ben in some of his most intimate moments, surely he must realise that. That his privacy has been an illusion over the past month and a half. For all of his strength, the fact that he didn’t know Hux was there for so long when Skywalker tagged him within seconds says something about his refinement. He’s seen things he’d rather not have, but at the same time, being a fly on the wall in someone else’s life has been interesting. One thing he can say for certain is that Ben is lonely, just like him. 

He decides to ignore them for now, preferring to focus on the first proper social interaction he’s had in way too long. The kitten purrs in his lap, writhing with joy at the attention he’s giving her. 

“Only you could walk around with a force ghost for ten months and not notice,” Skywalker scoffs. “Sanitation, as if, you know as well as me that they gave up on you a long time ago.”

“Maybe you’re not as great a teacher as you like to think,” Ben bites back. Somewhere along the line Ben must have missed the class about respecting his elders. 

Ben stands, stomping over to where Hux is sitting in his bed of flowers, trying and failing to locate Hux’s face. He ends up staring about a foot to the left of him. Now that she’s comfortable, the kitten is unbothered by the walking thundercloud looming above them. “You can’t keep that.” He snaps, gesturing to the stocky ball of fur in Hux’s lap. 

“Watch me.” Hux stands, taking the cat with him, tucking her up against his shoulder where she burrows into the side of his neck, purring contentedly. 

Deciding it’s not worth the argument Ben heaves a sigh and marches back towards the base. Hux smirks to himself, enjoying this minor victory. There’s no way he’s letting go of this little lady when she’s the only living thing he can interact with. And petty as it is, he deviates his path just enough to walk through the still seated jedi, hoping the sensation is unpleasant for him too. 

The walk back to Ben’s quarters is long and awkward, not helped in the slightest by the few officers that possess enough courage to remind him pets aren’t allowed. They all get the same reply, a scowl dark enough to shrivel up the entire planet. If Ben wasn’t a child in the body of a man Hux might have liked him if they’d met in life. There something to be said about people who can command an entire military instalment with presence alone. 

He lets the cat loose once the door has slid shut behind them and she immediately darts off to explore her new home. 

“Who are you?” Oh, so they’re doing this now?

“Does it matter?”

“Will you tell me your name at least?” Ben is being surprisingly civil with him, all things considered. 

Sharing his name might backfire on him, usually he wouldn’t hesitate, proud of his rank and what he has achieved. But here that probably won’t go over well. “Armitage.” He offers it as a middle ground, hoping Ben will leave it at that. 

“What we think happened…, where are you?” Ben glances around until Hux takes pity on him and picks up one of his model ships. Now that he has a point of reference Ben smiles softly for a second before catching himself. Would he smile like that if he knew Armitage gave the order that destroyed the Hosnian system?

“We think you died close by while I was manipulating the force and somehow you got stuck on me instead of moving on like you should have,” It’s blunt and to the point, it’s how Hux would have delivered those news himself. It’s different when he’s the one receiving them. “I don’t know how to help you unstick.” 

“I saw you, before I…,” He swallows around the lump in his throat, “I watched you waving around that stupid sword of yours, wondering how we could be defeated by a bumbling group of rebels. It’s the last thing I remember.” A feeling he hasn’t felt since he was a child overtakes him, but this time, instead of hiding in his bedroom closet he puts away the cruiser he’s holding effectively disappearing from view. It does nothing to alleviate the crushing weight of reality, the realisation that he has no power to change this, that no matter what he says things won’t go his way. 

“I’m sorry, Armitage.” As long as he can’t be seen he might as well indulge this long lost feeling and wedge himself into the secluded corner between the wall and the sofa, wrapping the tails of his greatcoat around him. It provides no relief, but it’s a safe place he can use to gather himself. Were he a lesser man he would have cried. 

Ben stays where he is, staring into thin air as if Hux never moved, as if he’s still there, mourning his own death in front of someone who shares the blame. He didn’t ask for this. Why couldn’t he just die like a normal person? Close his eyes and that’s it. Why does it have to be like this?

Death was always supposed to be the well deserved break after a long life, not this torturous limbo. 

Maybe sensing his despair the kitten meanders up to him, butting her little head against his calf. Ben watches her, looking relieved now that he knows where Hux is, “I’ll find a way to help you.” He promises. 

Much to Hux’s relief he turns away, sitting down at his desk to continue on his latest project, a high end speeder. At least, out of the available options, he ended up with a jedi willing to treat him as something more than just a cog in the machine. Ben is the first rebel he’s met that hasn’t spit in his face and cussed him out. Maybe he understands the crushing weight of expectations from the society that raised you better than anyone else, it couldn’t have been easy being the child of two rebel heroes. It’s possible that, like him, Ben didn’t really have a choice. But unlike Hux who was bred for war and high command, Ben was sentenced to a life of solidarity by his strength with the force. The force that decided to stick them together. 

Barely an hour later the door slides open, General Organa herself striding in. Had it been anyone else in the room they would have snapped to attention, Ben doesn’t even look up. “Luke tells me we have a guest. You should get rid of him.”

“Nice to see you too, mom.” Ben gripes, sarcasm dripping from every word. 

The general’s mask slips off her face, replaced by a concerned mother. Hux doesn't blame her, if he was in her stead he’d feel the same. “You can’t keep him, Ben,” a sigh, “Luke can help him move on.” The suggestion grates on him, he’d rather wait until Ben can help him than put up with Skywalker.

“I’m not a pet,” He bites out in a knee jerk reaction taking satisfaction in successfully startling the great Leia Organa. “And I’d rather watch your son picking his enormous nose for an eternity than work with your brother.” They both scowl in his general direction. 

“Your ghost is General Hux?” Organa raises an inquisitive brow at her gaping son. Of course she’d recognise his voice, of course she would. Perfect. 

An uncomfortable silence descends upon the room, Hux more grateful than ever that they can’t see him. The kitten stirs next to him, rolling onto her back and presenting her soft belly, heavy paws twitching as she dreams. 

“You gave him a pet?” Ben flounders under his mother’s judging gaze. “He’s a war criminal, Ben. A murderer of billions. And you let him have a pet?” Her disapproval is damn near palpable. 

“To be fair, I didn’t know who he was.” Ben defends himself meekly. 

“You’d think after twenty nine years you’d have learned some common sense.” Massaging her temples she shakes her head in resignment. “You should know better than this, Ben.” He can actually feel Ben’s hurt at his mother’s berating, it sits heavy in his chest another link in the chainmail surrounding his heart. It’s a familiar feeling, one he’d like to forget. 

“I want him gone by tomorrow.” Is her parting remark, it makes Hux want to stay out of spite. 

—

“General Hux, huh?” Ben hasn’t spoken to him for hours, not since he locked himself in his bedroom after sending several of his models flying across the room. Now he’s standing in the doorway looking like he’s in need of a good nap. “Why did you lie to me?” He demands to the seemingly empty room. 

“I didn’t.” Because through some strange turn of events he actually likes Ben. 

“Let me guess, you were just protecting yourself.” He sneers. 

“I’m dead, Ben. There’s nothing to protect.” Abandoning his task of tidying up after Ben’s tantrum he steps up to the man himself. He looks even worse up close, like he hasn’t slept for days, pallid skin, red eyes. How long has it really been? Hours or days?

“Why?” 

“Because I was ordered to,” He was proud when he brought Starkiller to completion, even more so when he gave the order to fire. Still, he knows what he’s done. All those people, an entire system wiped out. It’s truly a shame. “I had no choice.” Snoke would have killed him if he hadn’t. When he watched from the safety of his base he could have sworn he heard the screaming of billions, felt their fear, for just a split second. What’s done is done, there’s no changing it now. 

“There’s always a choice.” Ben sounds so sure of it, but he must know as well as Hux that sometimes there isn’t. In the seconds before he gave the order he could see no other way if he wanted to live. If he’d known he’d die anyway he might have chosen differently. 

“Then why am I still here? I didn’t choose this.”

“I told you why.” Those beautiful, brown eyes shift around the room. 

“No, you told me I’m stuck to your force signature.” Whatever bravado Ben had managed to collect slips off like a heavy coat, his broad shoulders slumping with exhaustion. 

“You’re force sensitive,” What? Like hell he is, Snoke was always adamant that he was at the very bottom of that scale, not so much as a thimble of sensitivity. “You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t. I can help you, but you have to move on yourself. I can’t just disconnect you.”

In the interest of where this is going Hux decides to humour him, “Why not, oh powerful jedi?” He gripes. 

“I’m not a jedi.” Is the only answer he gets, Ben leaving him on his own to go brood some more. Far be it for Hux to deny him his sulking time. 

Force sensitive, as if. 

—

Meditating is far more difficult than Hux imagined it would be, especially with Millicent racing around the room in pursuit of the small droid Ben built for her. Trying to concentrate is near impossible. He feels stupid, sitting here on the floor across from Ben who is so calm and serene. How such an over emotional, mess of a human being can push his feeling to the side in favour of deep reflection when Hux, with his ordered mind, cannot is beyond him. The “not a jedi” jedi is unfairly good at this. 

Though, he supposes, with a two decades of training Even people like Ben can learn to clear their minds. 

“Stop trying so hard, just let it happen,” Ben’s voice strokes him like a length of silk, startling him out of his wayward thoughts. “Focus on your breath.” He demonstrates, sucking in a deep breath and allowing the air to slowly trickle back out. Hux tries to copy even though he no longer needs to breathe. 

He finds it works better to focus on Ben’s breathing and before he knows it his mind is calming, zeroing in on that one point to anchor him in the present. 

“I’m going to reach out to you now, I want you to just let it happen.” The now familiar energy of Ben’s signature in the force licks at the edges of his mind. It feels intrusive, but not nearly as unpleasant as Skywalkers unwarranted probing was. “I promise I won’t look at your memories.” Even if he did there would be nothing to see, all he has to show for his life is 34 years of stress and abuse, everything else is on public record. It’s not something he particularity wants to share, but what point is there in hiding now? He’s just an insignificant speck on the vast expanse of the force, an error that should never have happened. Most things he achieved in life he had to work hard for, ironic that he has to earn his own death as well. 

Letting someone in isn’t easy, no matter how careful Ben is Hux still feels like he’s being violated as the warm tendril of energy spread through his entire body. Ben is trying to reconstruct him, give him physical form, at the very least an image to converse with. The images Hux is feeding him are of him at his best and most respected. He suspects this form won’t go over well with the other inhabitants on the base, but it would make him feel more like himself if no one forgot who he used to be. Let no one forget the glory that was The First Order. 

Recreating someone is hard work, even more so for just one person, But Hux refuses to allow any of the other jedi help. They can’t be trusted. Ben might not approve of the life Hux has lived, but he knows the rebel won’t do anything to his appearance. He wouldn’t trust Skywalker or that girl to give him the same kind of respect. Anyone else would jump at the chance to humiliate General Hux, likely by exposing him in some way. Not Ben though, not Ben. 

They keep going for as long as Ben can manage, until he’s drenched in sweat and ready to pass out from exhaustion. The result is a faint, man shaped outline, a slight distortion of the air. It’s more than he had yesterday. 

He watches over Ben while he sleeps, it used to be entertaining, because even in sleep Ben is more expressive than anyone Hux has ever seen. Then it became a comfort he could always rely on. He talks into his pillow, mumbling nonsense to whoever might be listening, tossing and turning, tangling his long hair that he forgets to tie back more often than not. Millicent used to try sleeping next to him until she learned doing so is a safety hazard.

On the odd occasion he even sleep walks, wandering around his room, staring at the walls. Once he walked into the shower only to wake screaming at the cold water shock, and one particularly memorable time he polished his boots. Hux redid it all the same, refining Ben’s sloppy work. 

Most nights he wakes from nightmares, face wet with tears, screaming into the darkness. On those nights things move, furniture scraping along the floor or hovering in the air. Hux hates to admit it, but it’s on those nights he wishes he had a physical body more than anything else. 

This night Ben sleeps like the dead, still enough that even Millie tucks herself into the bend of his knees. It’s almost strange to watch. 

—

It takes weeks of meditation for Hux to look solid, another week for him to become capable of touching others. Through countless hours of being connected at their core Ben’s anger with Hux’s identity fades little by little, a protectiveness growing instead, fuelled by Organa’s constant orders to get rid of him that always go ignored. He suspects he’s started to take on something of a pet status to Ben, or maybe the jedi is reluctant to let go of his one companion. Besides Millicent, Hux has yet to see Ben show any natural affection to anyone outside of his immediate family. His family that’s distant and too swept up in the aftermath of war to notice how lonely Ben is. 

Hux doesn't want to be anybody’s pet ghost, yet he’s surprisingly content where he is. Death, as it’s supposed to be, will be boring, he imagines and in this semi existence he’s at least not alone. This affection he’s growing is dangerous, but he’s reluctant to stop it. He’s not sure what to make of Ben’s annoying quirks becoming endearing qualities. Ben even stopped mastrubating once he became aware of his presence, he can’t quite decide whether that’s a pro or con. On the one side he’s proud Ben has some manners, on the other, he lost some fine entertainment. 

Across from him Ben blushes bright red, reminding Hux that the jedi is currently privy to his rambling thoughts. He looks ready to faint when Hux smirks at him, “It’s your most impressive feature.” Ben groans in response to the semi compliment before steering the meditation back on track. Hux couldn't care less, he’s just found a new way to terrorise his handler. 

—

Wandering the compound becomes an entirely new experience now that all the jedi milling about can see him and thusly glare at him. Where Ben has the learned ability to ignore his peers, Hux does not. It makes him more keenly aware than ever of the fact that he’s in the middle of enemy territory. Millicent makes up for it somewhat, having grown into what’s clearly a jungle cat of some sort, she may be small, but she has a fierce growl for those who throw insults at them. 

They always sit separate from everyone else in the mess hall because even though most people can’t see him it doesn’t stop them from whispering amongst themselves. No one ever sits with them, not even Rey and her group of friends. Not since FN-2187 returned from Skywalkers temple only to find his old general returned from the dead. 

Ben doesn’t like being in the mess hall any more than Hux does, eating his food fast enough to be concerning. He might be ignoring the looks they’re getting, but it’s clearly affecting him more than he's willing to admit. In the halls people are less concerned with keeping the peace, here they fling insults like rocks, making no effort to keep their voices down. Even the handsome pilot and his orange droid have stopped trying to approach them, Hux doesn't blame him, he did after all oversee the man’s interrogation in the brief time he was their prisoner. It’s no wonder Ben prefers to hide in his quarter a lot more than he used to. 

—

It’s been six months since Hux woke up, and the number of people on the base is shrinking steadily, the war long over and the need for a resistance diminishing. He’s glad, for Ben’s sake. The outside of their home is still a hostile environment for them both, but now slightly less so. He wants to suggest they take a ship and leave too, but he won’t. Ben deserves to be with his family, no matter how dysfunctional it is. Underneath it all he’s loved and Hux won’t take that away from him. 

It’s been six months and he’s come to care more about a jedi than he has anyone else, alive or dead. A mountainous slob who never picks up after himself, argues with service droids, and throws temper tantrums, that somehow managed to charm a once great general with his crooked smile. 

The fact that they come from fairly similar backgrounds on opposite sides of a spectrum has had a big role in their friendship, that ability to relate helping them along. Ben sees him for more than a starched uniform, and Hux can look beyond Ben’s royal pedigree. Maybe this was meant to be. The force does, after all, work in mysterious ways. 

—

One year in only those with nowhere else to go remain, what used to be a base of 150,000 now only houses a few thousand. Somewhere along the way Hux became the resident ghost, old news used to scare the remaining children because yelling obscenities at him has lost its fun. His existence has become frightfully domestic. 

It’s now that Ben’s father returns from the deepest reaches of the galaxy, hauling junk that’s supposed to make up for his absence. Ben still bears the scars from the abuse he suffered because of Hux, anyone can see that, anyone, but Han Solo. Solo who’s been gallivanting around the outer rim with his Wookiee sidekick not even bothering to make contact with his family one single time. Solo who explodes in rage when Organa tells him about Hux, yells at Ben to get rid off him, oblivious of the tears his son is holding back. Hux knows it’s petty, but that doesn’t stop him from tossing the contents of a nearby mug onto Solo’s already filthy shirt. 

No one gets to treat his jedi like that, not even Han Solo. 

When he takes Ben’s hand to lead him away he could swear he feels the warmth of a living body for a few seconds. He chases the feeling, but it stays just out of reach. 

Ben is silent the entire walk back to their quarters where Millie greats them with a happy squeak. “Maybe you should send me away.” The words leave an ache in his chest that he was not entirely prepared for. He’s even less prepared for the hug Ben drags him into. 

“I don’t want you to leave.” Something expands inside him, a tingling energy taking his entire body. 

“I don’t want to leave, but maybe it would be for the best.” He clings to the warm body encompassing him, bunching the black fabric of Ben’s robes in his hands. 

“No.” Soft lips press against his temple, warm breath ghosting over his skin. He expects the sensation to fade, but it doesn’t, for the first time since he died he feels warm.


End file.
